


Timing is Everything

by LexiusNemean



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Complete, Enemies to Enemies, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Spell-induced obsession, not actually romantic at all, switching POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:09:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23373697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LexiusNemean/pseuds/LexiusNemean
Summary: Draco Malfoy had come up with the greatest prank of the century--or at least it would have been, had it gone correctly. Now he needs to find the counter jinx before Harry Potter murders him, or worse...kisses him again.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I wrote in like 2013 or something and never typed up until now. I think it's still good?? If you're not looking for a romantic, healthy romance fic.
> 
> Can't believe I'm posting Harry/Draco fic in the year 2020.

**  
****  
**Draco Malfoy was beyond proud of himself: he had come up with the greatest prank to pull on that upstart Harry Potter. He had already told Crabbe and Goyle, and they were positively _roaring_ with laughter. The three had spent the entire day making impressions of what Harry would be like after the trick, delighting in what they thought his reactions would be.

The next morning, Malfoy walked into the dining hall with a certain swagger in his step. Every now and then he would turn to grin at Crabbe and Goyle, who sniggered back with mean glee.

It was easy to find him—Potter and his friends almost always ate breakfast in the same general area of the Gryffindor table, where they stuffed their faces and whispered constantly. Draco took a second to savor the moment before finally ordering Goyle to grab Mrs. Norris.

\----

  
Harry was shoveling down his breakfast so he could get to his morning Quidditch practice—Wood would kill him if he were late. But even as he ate, he found himself catching Malfoy’s eye often.

“Something’s up with Malfoy. Have you noticed?”

Ron looked up from his food momentarily and nodded.

“He does seem to be smiling an awful lot,” he finally said around a swallow, hisfrown clear in his voice.

“Harry, I think he’s up to something.” Hermione put down her book to look at him. “He’s been staring at you all through breakfast.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” said Harry, his voice low with suspicion. Right as the words left his mouth Goyle sat down next to Malfoy, covered in scratches but beaming all the same. He seemed to be carrying something—whatever it was, it seemed to be putting up a fight.

Harry continued to eat his food, peering up at the Slytherin table every chance he got. Hermione also had her eye on them, at least when she wasn’t focused on any engrossing topics in her textbook.

“They seem to have stopped whispering, Harry—oh, they’re getting up!”

Harry glanced over; they indeed seemed to be leaving their table, grinning even more maliciously than usual. The three headed straight for them, Malfoy in particular wearing a certain confidence that Harry didn’t like.

“Hey Potter,” he drawled, sneering happily, “what do you think of Filch’s mangy old cat?”

Crabbe and Goyle snickered behind him; Harry frowned.

“I think talking about her is a waste of oxygen--the same thing I think about you.”

At this, Malfoy’s grin only grew in size. “What, won’t fess up? Well, I guess that just means I’ll have to _let the cat out of the bag_!”

He howled with laughter as Goyle took something out from behind his back—a burlap sack—and flung it’s contents at Harry. Mrs. Norris flew through the air, but Harry’s focus shifted as he heard Malfoy’s laughter stop. He managed to lock eyes with him just as the Syltherin shouted out a spell.

With a flick of his wrist a pink beam of light shot out from his wand and hurled into Harry’s chest. Harry closed his eyes, expecting to be flung backwards, but the spell hit with no impact whatsoever. Opening his eyes and blinking quizzically at the angry cat at his feet, he had to wonder just what Malfoy had been hoping to achieve.

But Malfoy didn’t seem even slightly perturbed; in fact, he and his cronies laughed in triumph, seemingly ecstatic with all they had done.

“Have fun with your girlfriend, Potter!” Malfoy jeered, before finally leaving the hall.

Harry turned to look at Ron and Hermione. They seemed just as confused as he was.

“Uh...You feel anything, Harry?”

Harry shook his head. “Nothing. Hermione, did you catch what he said?”

“It was a some sort of spell, but I didn’t recognize it. Although I admit I was more preoccupied on Ms. Norris’s sad yowling.” A crease appeared in her brow as she watched Ms. Norris leave. “It was quite sad.”

Harry turned to look the same way, watching Malfoy leave. “ _He’s_ rather sad.” Ron laughed at the joke; Harry smiled gratefully and before picking up his things. “I need to head to Quidditch practice.”

“Okay, be careful mate.”

\----  
  


After dinner Malfoy was still laughing about that morning’s scene.

“I can’t wait to hear the stories! Do you think Filch has found out?” His tone was both mirthful and cruel, and his laughter echoed through the halls. Parkinson in particular hung on his every word. “I hope it never wears off, I want to see it!”

Malfoy didn’t notice his companions had stopped walking until someone tugged on his robes. Harry Potter was standing in the middle of the hall. Malfoy grinned and stepped forward.

“Where are your friends? Do they not want to be around you anymore?” He snickered. “Or did you just want some alone time with Mrs. Norris?” The other Slytherins laughed; Harry only wore the same dark look.

“I want to speak with Malfoy. Alone.” He was angry—a dangerous aura rolled off him in waves. He had his wand clutched in his hand, his knuckles nearly white.

Malfoy tried to ignore this. “Won’t I get between you two? Or maybe, did you want to thank me in private?”

More laughter from the Slytherins. Harry raised his wand-- immediately Crabbe and Goyle stepped forward with their fists at the ready. But for once this didn’t seem to intimidate him; Harry merely repeated himself, his gaze steady.

“Malfoy. Alone.”

Palms beginning to sweat, Malfoy felt the gazes of his friends burn into the back of his head. They were expecting him to go. Not wanting to look like a coward, he reluctantly nodded his head.

“Fine, Potter. This better be worth my time.”

Harry didn’t respond. Instead he merely gestured for Malfoy to come forward, making him feel even more like he had lost. Turning back to his friends, Malfoy told them he’d meet them in the common room. They headed off, a few meowing mockingly as they left.

“So what did you want?” Malfoy’s face has become mean, partially to cover up his discomfort—how often had he spoken one-on-one with Harry Potter? Twice? Usually he would mock the Weasley or the mudblood and leave it at that, but when it was just the two of them…

Instead of answering, Harry grabbed Malfoy’s collar and threw him up against the wall. His eyes shone with an anger so bright he no longer looked familiar--it looked more like he was channeling the spirit of some incredibly cruel bully.

“What did you do to me?”

Malfoy reached for his wand only to find his arms pinned and Harry’s face so close to his own.

“ _What did you do to me?_ ”

“Unhand me at once, I know how to make life a lot harder for y-”

“ _What. Did. You. Do. To. Me?_ ” The grip on his arms tightened and Malfoy winced.

“Shouldn’t you have figured it out already?! You and that cat—”

“Have nothing to do with each other.”

Malfoy froze. His mouth suddenly felt dry. “What?”

“Ever since that spell...I couldn’t focus on Quidditch, I couldn’t pay attention in class, I couldn’t even talk to my friends without accidentally saying your name—”

Wait. Something was wrong.

“—Malfoy, is this your idea of a joke? Did you want me to notice you that badly?”

Now rather than enraged he seemed more frustrated and exasperated, the look in his eyes much more Harry-like. Malfoy finally found his voice.

“...It’s your fault that this happened! You were supposed to look at Norris, not me!”

“What?” This seemed to make Harry angrier, and Malfoy hastened to explain himself.

“It was some stupid spell I found in a witch book! It makes the target unable to think about anything but the last thing they saw after the spell was cast--which was supposed to be that cat! Why would you look at me when a spitting mad animal was thrown in your face?! It’s your own fault!”

Recognition flashed through Harry’s eyes. He didn’t seem any less angry though.

“Release it.”

Malfoy panicked, his pitch jumping up. “I-I can’t!”

“You can’t?” Harry narrowed his eyes.

“I think it might wear off over time, or, or something...I didn’t see a counter jinx! Also, I might have mispronounced it!”

Malfoy was once again shoved into the wall. This time he let out a yelp of surprise.

“I don’t want another minute of your dumb face in my head!”

“I get it, I get it, It’s not like I want you thinking about me either!” Malfoy’s face twisted with disgust as he pulled himself out of Harry’s grip, finally getting away.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To find your cure! Or would you rather keep me pinned to that wall?” He rubbed his sore arms, the places where Harry held him still stinging. “Deal with it for a little longer!”

Harry shut his mouth, opened it, then shut it again. It seemed he didn’t have anything more to say. Malfoy shot him a particularly nasty scowl before continuing to the Slytherin common room.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning was not even slightly pleasant for Draco Malfoy. Most of the Slytherins who had seen Harry approach him were still asking what had happened, and he’d yet to give them an answer. Last night Malfoy had managed to keep them away by studying in bed, but now he was having no such luck.

Finding a seat near the end of the Slytherin table, he hoped to avoid any and all prying eyes. He wasn’t in any hurry to get caught—not only had he not thought of any good stories about what happened last night with Harry, he had no excuses for Harry himself. Malfoy, despite studying until his eyes were raw, had not managed to find anything resembling a cure.

He looked at the dreaded book sitting in his lap and once again flipped to that dreaded spell. The gesture was meaningless, though; the book was old and worn, from his mother’s girlhood, and even when the words weren’t faded away or smudged beyond recognition they didn’t seem incredibly reliable. He knew for a fact that some of these spells were wrong (his mother had even written some corrections in the margins), and before that had suited him just fine. After all, he had only ever meant to use the book for fun.

How had everything gone so wrong?

He somehow stayed out of sight during breakfast, but his luck was about to run out. Today he had Potions class with the Gryffindors. 

\----  
  


He had never felt uncomfortable in Snape’s class before, but he certainly did now. Somehow he had managed to enter class without alerting Harry, but now the Slytherin kids were whispering questions to him while the Professor was lecturing. Then, when the class was assigned their task, Malfoy kept catching Harry staring at him (or more often, glaring). Even when Malfoy tried to ignore him and focus on his potion he could feel Harry’s eyes boring into him, and staying calm became more and more difficult. Harry’s potion exploded halfway through class and he couldn’t even derive any joy from it.

As soon as class ended he ran from the dungeon as fast as he could. He was sure he heard the Weasley boy yell as he left.

The rest of the day was spent mainly dodging questions and worrying about what Harry Potter was thinking about: which was him, no doubt. He literally could not think of anything or anyone else, so Malfoy knew he wouldn’t be off the hook for long. (For all he knew, Harry had no choice but to plot his violent death to the most precise detail.) Every spare moment was spent looking through the pages of his mother’s book for something hidden between the notes, to no avail.

He was finally caught around dinner, once again alone. Malfoy had been walking to the great hall, brimming with nerves, when a hand snatched the back of his robes.

“Malfoy.”

The noise that came from him sounded something one of the gamekeeper’s rodents would make. Turning, he came face-to-face with him at last.

“Ah, Potter, I was just looking for you-”

“The cure?”

Malfoy shut his mouth. The book weighed heavily in his bag.

“...I couldn’t find one.”

“You couldn’t find one?” Harry clutched harder at his robes; it was beginning to feel a bit tight around the neck. “Malfoy, if this is your idea of a joke--”

“It’s not!” Malfoy nearly shrieked. It felt dangerous, the position he was in, and yet when he looked at Harry’s face he was met only with desperation.

“I can’t live like this! It’s driving me mad, I can’t think about anything else but you, you, you, _you_ —!”

Harry choked on his own voice, or some powerful emotion Malfoy couldn’t name. The hand holding his robes pulled him forward so they were forced to stare into each other’s eyes, Harry’s wide with something indescribable.

“Malfoy, I think it’s getting worse.”

Then Harry leaned into Malfoy’s lips, the whisper still ringing in his ears.

The kiss started as quiet as the words that had introduced it, but it quickly became hungrier. Malfoy realized Harry was still holding tight to his robes—he struggled under his hold but couldn’t break free.

When he was finally allowed to part his breath was shaky and his knees were weak, his face splotched with red. The minute he realized he was free he threw a punch as hard as he could against Harry’s chest and ran to the dining hall while the other was still winded.

His footsteps echoed and bounced off the stone halls. Though he didn’t hear anyone giving chase, he ran like his life depended on it—maybe running from the memory itself. His lungs were on fire, his breathing ragged, and his head was spinning.

Before he knew it he was throwing open the doors to the dining hall. Dinner had already started and the tabled were laden with food; he walked briskly toward the Gryffindor table, ignoring the stares that followed him.

Ron and Hermione stood up before he even got to their table. Ron was already furious, shouting across the din of cutlery against dishware.

“Malfoy, where’s Harry? Why’s he so late?”

“Ask him yourself, Weasel!” Malfoy pushed past him, grabbed his mother’s book from his things, and thrust it into Hermione’s arms.

“The spell’s in there! I can’t find a way to undo it, but you’re smart--fix him!” He didn’t give her a chance to reply; as soon as the book was in her hands he left just the way he came, pushing kids out of his way as he went.

“Don’t bother giving it back!” he yelled over his shoulder, before finally slamming the great doors shut.

\----  
  


Harry lay in bed inside the empty boys dorm and realized he couldn’t stop thinking about it even if he wanted to.

He swore that when this was all over he was going to murder Draco Malfoy.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry was sunken down in one of the Gryffindor common area’s big squishy chairs when the first person came down.

“Mornin’ Harry,” Ron yawned as he walked down the stairs, somehow the first one to wake. Any remaining sleepiness was gone in an instant when he noticed the dark bags under his friend’s eyes.

“Bloody hell, did you get _any_ sleep?”

“No, and I didn’t yesterday either. _You_ try falling asleep with nothing but Draco Malfoy in your head.” Harry yawned; it had been a rough night. He felt absolutely miserable, and the only thoughts to keep him company either made him want to gag or cringe.

Ron made a face that was probably supposed to be sympathetic. “That’s still happening? Please tell me Hermione’s figured it out, because you tend to talk in your sleep and I’m not looking forward to hearing you moan Malfoy’s name in the middle of the night.”

Harry gave Ron a dirty look. “Of _course_ , we wouldn’t want this situation to inconvenience _you_ in any way. That would be terrible.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I mean, I can imagine how awful it must be to only have that ugly mug in your head...Not that I really want to imagine it.”

“Well some of us don’t have a choice, now do we?!” Harry closed his eyes tightly, taking a deep breath. “Sorry, the lack of sleep has got me cross.”

Ron settled down next to him, looking properly pitying. “I’m sure you want nothing more to do with the prick.”

“Well...” Harry sat up a bit in his chair, grateful for the opportunity to vent, “It’s completely awful. At first I was just so angry and irritated all the time, because I couldn‘t focus on Quidditch and Wood kept yelling at me, and after that I was still mad just because thinking about him makes me mad, but then...You know when you have a song stuck in your head, and no matter how irritating and intolerable it is you start _needing_ to hear it again just so you can stop thinking about it? That’s—”

“Nope, no more, I don’t want to know!” Ron stood from his chair, throwing his hands up. “Remember how I said I didn’t want to imagine it?”

Just then rapid footsteps boomed down the stairs from the girls dormitory. Hermione, elated, had arrived with Draco’s book her hand.

“I’ve got it! I think I finally figured it out!” She slammed the worn book down on a table and started flipping to the appropriate page. “It’s actually very interesting, this book was obviously written by someone who dabbled in dark arts but it was written for _young girls_! And it looks quite old, do you think Malfoy--”

“Just fix me already!”

Hermione flinched. “Of course, Harry, my apologies. Now let me just make sure I have the incantation right…”

She flicked her wrist and read something from her notes, and immediately Harry sat straight up. For a second they all stared at him, and he stared back. The world went still.

Then a smile crept over Harry’s tired face and he fell unconscious.

“Oh no Ron, I think I did something wrong! Is he okay?! Harry, Harry!”

“Hermione, he’s fine.”

“But Ron, look--”

“ _LISTEN,_ Hermione!”

She fell silent, still fraught with worry. They stood still, the quiet heavy and tense around them, before Harry’s snore filled the room.

“See?”

Ron smiled smugly; the tension Hermione had been holding drained out of her. “Oh, I see, yes. I suppose he’s alright.”

\----  
  


Harry Potter was not at breakfast that morning; Malfoy couldn’t help but notice when he saw Weasley and the Granger girl enter the dining hall without him. He tried to catch their eye but they didn’t seem to notice him, too caught up in their own conversation.

He slumped in his seat. For all the stress and personal trauma this fiasco had cost him, one would think he would feel a bit more included. Where was Potter? Was he cured yet? Or was he still hiding in secret, waiting to snog him again?

Breakfast went by without Malfoy tasting anything he ate. He could feel warmth creep into his face just recalling the night before—his fist clenched with the renewed urge to punch him. How dare he do that sort of thing, and harass him and glare at him without restraint, and then have the gall to not show up at breakfast? Now Malfoy was left on pins and needles waiting for answers.

The Slytherins didn’t have any classes with Gryffindor that day, which meant an even longer wait. On top of that Malfoy was still avoiding his housemates, at least until he knew they had forgotten his talk with Potter. So he had nothing to take his mind off the past few days’ events, which only served to wind him up even more. By the end of the day’s classes he wasn’t sure he could recall a single thing he had learned, and he had to ask Parkinson at least five times if they had any homework.

By dinner he was in a wretched state. Searching furtively around the dining hall, he would not eat a bite until he found Potter. At last he and his friends arrived, all in rather good spirits as they sat down in their usual spots. Not a single one chose to look at him, and it made him _furious_.

Malfoy finally decided to rejoin his friends, irritation bubbling within him. In no time at all he was back between Crabbe and Goyle, loudly mocking anyone who had the nerve to breathe wrong. At one point he found a very good train of thought regarding Harry Potter and what was rumoured to have happened during a recent Quidditch practice—he caught Potter finally turning to look at him. The moment their eyes met Malfoy looked away, pretending not to notice, but his heart rate didn’t return to normal even when Harry had stopped listening.

Over the next few days this pattern continued. Whenever Harry and his friends were near Malfoy mocked them fiercely to anyone who would listen. If any of them had been planning to tell him anything before, they definitely wouldn’t be now. The glares they sent his way were scathing, but Malfoy returned sneers just as intense--so long as Potter wasn’t looking his way. He still couldn’t meet his eyes...in fact, each day that passed it seemed to get worse.

They deserved it, he told himself, they deserved everything they got and worse. Either way, he had no other way to vent his mounting frustration.

\----  
  


Life had returned to normal for Harry Potter, the boy who lived through Draco’s prank mistake. He could once again focus on classes, fly his broom effortlessly, and talk to teachers without Malfoy’s name accidentally forming on his lips. And Malfoy was certainly his same old self: he started loudly insulting them the moment they entered the same room. The only difference might have been that Malfoy never met his eyes—if there was one good thing that came from that terrible spell it was that he seemed to have made Malfoy more nervous around him.

“Hey Harry, do you reckon Malfoy’s gotten a bit worse recently?” Ron said on the third day after Harry’s recovery.

“I haven’t noticed--haven’t been thinking of him recently,” he replied with an especially proud grin.

“Maybe he’s upset that we never updated him about your condition,” Hermione suggested.

“But it’s obvious I’m not under the spell anymore, I haven’t so much as looked at him in days! I’m sure he’s figured it out.” Harry had thought to tell Malfoy, but he had honestly been so relieved to not be thinking of him anymore that he hadn’t managed the motivation. And really, with Malfoy being so nasty to him and his friends, why should he have?

“I don’t know,” Ron said over a particularly loud cackle from Malfoy, “he’s definitely been worse lately. The way he’s acting, it’s like _he_ was the one under the stupid spell. Not exactly fair, since you were the victim and all.”

“I’m sure it’ll let up when he gets bored. I don’t want to think about him anymore, let’s get to class.”

After that, Harry did begin noticing that Malfoy might have been bothering them a bit more frequently, and that the taunts were becoming a tad harsher (he ended up having to hold both Hermione and Ron back once that week). Somehow he just couldn’t make himself care about it. Something inside him outright refused to let Malfoy enter his head, and Harry was happy to keep it that way.

It didn’t last long.

He was walking with Ron and Hermione when they saw Malfoy standing in the middle of the hall, waiting. Harry vaguely remembered that the last time he’d seen Malfoy alone was the second time he’d caught him, the day of the kiss—

He cast the thought from his mind.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Ron reared forward, an ugly scowl on his face.

“Nothing with you, I assure you,” Malfoy sneered. “No, I need to talk to Potter. Alone.”

Harry frowned; this sounded too familiar to his own request. But the way Malfoy composed himself was different from how Harry had been back then; while he did look angry, Malfoy still wasn't looking Harry in the eye, and there seemed to be a bit of nervousness etched into his expression.

The others started to argue, but Harry cut them off.

“It’s fine, I’ll meet you both later. You go on ahead.”

They frowned but reluctantly started heading toward the common room, disappointment clear on their faces.

Harry walked over to Malfoy, hand reaching into his wand pocket just in case. He let his fingers brush against the handle of it as he approached.

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

For a moment, Malfoy seemed unsure of what to do next.

“...So you’re better then?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

He paused, embarrassment dying his pale cheeks a light shade of pink.

“Do you...still think of me at all?”

Now Malfoy’s cheeks had grown even pinker. Harry knit his brow in confusion, unable to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

“No, I don’t.”

Malfoy grimaced. Just what was going through his head?

“Okay Malfoy, what is this all about? You didn’t call me over just for smalltalk, did you?”

“Of course not! It’s just…” he grit his teeth, “just...How?”

“How what?”

“How can you not think of me anymore? Ever since that stupid spell, I’ve had to worry about what you were thinking, or whether you were going to jump out at me, or, or whatever, and I haven’t been able to focus on anything _all_ _week!_ ” The last two words were nearly spat out, the blush having morphed into a angry red. “So why is it that you can go through the same thing without blinking an eye? After thinking so long about someone, you can’t just forget it easily! After k-kissing someone, you can’t just act like nothing happened!”

Now it was Harry’s turn to look away. Why was he bringing that up?

“I don’t want to be the only one suffering, Potter! I want you to be thinking about me as much as I’ve had to think about you!”

“Well that won’t be happening anytime soon.”

Harry had started to smile, clinging to his newly favoured joke like a lifeline, when Malfoy grabbed him by the collar and kissed him hard.

“By the end of this year, you won’t be able to live without me!”


End file.
